


Everybody's Lost Somebody

by WiseMage



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Oral Sex, Roughness, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2018-11-08 23:50:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 5,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11092500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WiseMage/pseuds/WiseMage
Summary: A collection of short stories about the relationship between my Warden, Lenan Tabris and Zevran Arainai.





	1. Closer

 

Zevran couldn't tear his eyes from her, and it was beginning to become a problem.

This woman, this _fucking_ woman. She should be dead, by his hand, and yet here he stood, gazing like a lovesick teenager. He continued to poorly pretend to sharpen his blades, his fingers dangerously close to being sliced off with the glide of the whetstone due to his lack of concentration.

Lenan sat on the filthy ground, leaning back against the log placed in front of the fire. Her pink tongue darted out to poke at the fresh cut on her bottom lip. She'd glared at him when he'd offered to stitch it up for her. "I like scars," she'd said.

This infuriating, _stubborn_ woman held something inside him; a flame igniting deep in his chest whenever her angry grey eyes met his golden brown.

He watched her rifle through her pack, as she did every night; a ritual. She rubbed the blood-stained slip of white lace between her fingers, staring off into the distance. The way she looked at it...

He longed to ask her about it, about what meaning such an item held, but the damn woman knocked the breath from his lungs with simply a look.

He was an _assassin_ , for fucks sake. A damn fine one, probably even the best, but this skinny elf turned him to rubble. 

Lenan grunted and shoved the piece of lace back into the pack and threw it across the campsite. She ran her fingers through unkempt blonde hair, hissing as she grazed another cut that had dried and crusted above her eyebrow. She poked at the gash with her fingertip, wincing in pain, yet repeating the action anyway.

With a roll of her eyes she clasped her hands behind her head and slid until she was laid flat on her back in the dust and dirt.

Zevran took a deep breath, summoning the courage to initiate a conversation as he quietly approached her.

"I'm sure there are more satisfactory places for you to sleep, my lady?"

She didn't flinch, her eyes blankly staring up at the stars.

He cleared his throat and gracefully led beside her, cheekily mimicking her pose with a wiggle of his hips as he settled to the ground.

"Finished staring at me, then?"

Zevran smiled, the sound of her husky voice causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand to attention. He gazed up at the stars, it was a wonderful, clear night.

"You are a _beautiful_ woman," he purred, impressed at how steady his voice sounded. "Its hard not to stare."

"Are you sure you're not just plotting to kill me again?" She queried, voice monotone, uncaring.

Zevran propped himself up on his elbow to get a better look at her. "I pledged my life to you, Warden. If you wish to end it, I would not blame you."

He steeled his gaze, daring her to look at him.

Had he not proved himself? He'd fought at her side for almost half a year now. His devotion never wavered, he was a man of his word.

Creators, he'd _wished_ she'd killed him back then. But now, _now_ he had something to live for.

Her nose twitched, a delicious, crooked smirk forming on her plump lips. She sat up, crossing her legs and rested her chin atop clasped hands. Those wicked eyes glistened; mischief was afoot. 

"I see," she said, a pause, pursing her lips. "You better watch your back then, lest you find a dagger in it."

Then, she laughed. She fucking _laughed_.

Zevran had never had the pleasure of hearing her make this joyful noise, a noise so _pure_ he couldn't help but to burst into laughter himself.

She smirked again, staring him down as if she were ready to pounce, "You know, you're quite nice to look at yourself, _crow_."

_Shit._

 


	2. Mackay's Epic Single Malt

Recently, Zevran had noticed the way Alistair looked at her. They were comfortable with each other, her eyes softening with Alistair in a way they never had for him.

The corners of her mouth twitched as if suppressing a smile as the other Warden made a fumbling joke, perhaps even an attempt at flirtation. She leaned in, nudging her shoulder to his before wandering away with a devilish grin and a flick of her blonde hair. Alistair stopped in his tracks, and whatever the elf had said to him had caused an embarrassing flush to spread across his cheeks.

Zevran chuffed a laugh, the man was _hopeless_. He was surely no competition? A delicate flower like Alistair would never handle a firecracker like Lenan.

Him, however...

The group started to set up camp for the night. Morrigan flicked a spark toward the pile of logs and kindling, igniting it with ease before she retired to her tent silently.

Zevran settled beside the fire with a half-empty bottle of Antivan brandy. How he'd made it last this long he'd never know. He popped the corked lid and took a deep swig.

An extremely ungraceful body plopped itself next to him, throwing up dust and dirt.

" _Yes!"_  Lenan groaned, roughly prying the bottle from his fingers.

Zevran tried not to grin. "Oh, _yes_ , my lady! Please help yourself. Plenty more where that came from," he scoffed, shaking his head dramatically.

She stopped and glared at him mid-swig, lips wrapped around the neck of the bottle enticingly.

He swallowed, his throat suddenly _very_ dry. Her lips were so full and so very, _deliciously_ pink. Surely she wore rouge?

No. No, she didn't.

She was just devastating.

She pulled the bottle from her mouth with a ' _pop_ ' that sent a shiver right down, deep into his trousers.

"I _own_ you, crow. You know that, don't you?"

He'd have been annoyed with that remark if she weren't smirking, a scarred eyebrow perfectly arched in question.

Oh, but she _did_ own him. 

He narrowed his eyes as she took another long drag of the amber liquid, her throat bobbing as she swallowed it down greedily. _Maker_ , she was going to drink it dry.

He snatched it away, cradling it like a newborn baby, precious in his arms. "Gentle, Warden," he snapped. "This is all I have left."

She scrunched her nose, contemplating her next move, no doubt. Her head must have been swimming already, her legs unsteady as she rose and brushed the dirt from her ripped leathers. She spun on stumbling feet and disappeared into her tent.

Alistair shook his head at Zevran from across camp, tutting like a disapproving fool. Zevran presented his middle finger with a smile, the Warden huffing and wandering off to begin his shift of guarding the perimeter.

Shit. He'd blown it.

Lenan had _willingly_ joined him by the fire, and he'd ruined it by being petty over a bottle of fucking _brandy_. It was stale, too.

Shit, _again_.

Lenan poked her head out of the flaps of her tent, clearing her throat loudly. " _Crow_ ," She shouted, tilting her head to the side; an invitation.

Zevran prodded a finger to his chest. "Me?"

She frowned and grimaced. "Yes you fucking idiot. Do you see any other Crows around here?"

Oh, but he _liked_ it when she cursed.

He tried to restrain himself from leaping from the ground into a somersault and vaulting over the campfire. Instead, he slowly stood and brushed the dust from his backside, taking steady steps toward her.

"Leave that," she sighed, pointing at the bottle.

He hugged it tighter to his chest. "But..."

Her arm appeared, holding a full bottle of something. Whatever it was, it was exactly the right dusky hue of amber, and looked _incredibly_ inviting. He placed his sad bottle on the ground and bid it farewell, entering the tent as she held the flaps aside for him.

She sat on her bunk and tapped the empty spot by her side. Zevran obliged, sitting beside her, close enough for their thighs to touch.

_Maker preserve me._

Lenan brought her feet up onto the bunk, unlacing her boots with bloodied and bruised fingers. She was a mess, the fight they'd had with a group of bandits earlier that day turning nasty when the words 'knife' and 'ear' had been thrown around.

Oh, don't forget the 'bitch', just to seal their fate that _little_ bit extra.

She'd made them cry like little girls, throwing her daggers to the floor, offering up her fists instead. Zevran almost lost an arm he was so distracted watching her pummel them.

She fought like nothing he'd ever seen, the strength of ten men inside such a tiny, unassuming woman.

She threw the muddy boots aside and begsn to un-hook her armor, starting with her cuirass. It fell to the ground with a _thud_.

"A little assistance?" She pleaded, awkwardly twisting her body around and presenting her back to him. She pointed at the fastenings of her under-armor.

Zevran nodded, his fingers shaking as he undid the leather clasps, parting the vivid blue material to reveal perfect, albeit _bruised_ , milky-white skin. She unnerved him like no other. 

She twisted away from him, pulling the fabric over her head and dropping it at his feet. She stood, naked from the waist-up, baring herself to him with hands placed on curved hips.

She cocked her head, tapping her foot impatiently. "Lose the shirt."

Zevran, the notoriously suave, smooth-tongued, sweet-talker was left _speechless_. A mere puddle, useless. She was _breathtaking_ , the most beautiful creature, man or woman, he'd ever laid eyes on.

She stood silently, the foot-tapping subsiding as the minutes passed. Her grey eyes fell to the floor, dark lashes kissing the tops of newly-flushed, freckled cheeks. Maker, was she _blushing_?

She wrapped an arm over her breasts, suddenly self-conscious. "If you don't..."

_Don't. Fuck. This. Up._

He snapped out of it and stood, the swiftness of his movement drawing a gasp from the back of her throat as he grabbed her by the arms, pulling her tight to his chest. He stared her down, his golden eyes sparkling as he finally found himself, trying not to get lost in this foolish crush. This, this was where he shined. Passion and _need_ and...

She wanted him, apparently, and _Maker_ , he wanted her.

He finally, _finally_ pressed his lips to hers, the bitter taste of brandy delicious on her tongue. The kiss burned like fire, her hands reaching up and tugging at his hair, nails scratching at his scalp.

 _Yes._  

He dug his fingers into her arms as she moaned into his mouth. He pulled back, a shit-eating grin on his lips. Her eyes flew open, pupils blown black and mouth so _deliciously_ kiss-reddened he wanted to weep.

 _I did that_. 

"Take your shirt _off_ ," she growled, voice thick with lust.

This time, he obliged.

 

 

 


	3. Pendulum

Lenan stepped into the lake, the feel of the ice-cold water lapping at her skin a welcome reprieve from the sharp burn beneath her ribcage where the dagger had slipped in like a knife to butter.

She’d been careless, too busy trying to see where that _fucking_ Crow was. Worried for his safety…apparently. It was an unfounded concern, of course, as he was more than capable of defending himself. Though, she’d caught him one too many times focusing on her during their battles, rather than on whoever was actively trying to kill him. So, essentially, this gaping wound in her side was his fault. Yes, his fault.

She heard footsteps approaching, turning to see _him_ , gloriously bare-chested and gaping at her naked form like an imbecile. He was usually whisper-quiet, his crunching footsteps an obvious attempt to make her aware of his presence.

“You’ve seen me naked plenty of times, stop looking at me like that,” she hissed, wincing as the open wound protested, the once-clear water around her waist tinged red.

Zevran shook his head with smile and hurried to remove his underclothes, gracefully jumping into the lake. He popped up from beneath the surface and slicked his wet hair back with long fingers.

Lenan caught herself staring longingly at those hands. She’d never forget the way they played her like a song, his almost deadly precision plucking and unwinding her over and over and…

_Fuck._

“You’re injured, Mi Amor,” he frowned, face etched with genuine concern as he reached for her. His fingertips tentatively ghosted over her side, his touch gentle and almost welcome. Almost.

She pushed any thoughts of longing to the back of her mind and flinched away from him, jerking back as if he’d scorched her. “What did you just call me?”

He narrowed his eyes, a sad smile playing on his lips. “Forgive me, Warden, just a little slip." He paused, swallowing thickly as he studied her blank expression. “It won’t happen again.”

Lenan felt her cheeks flush and she dipped beneath the water in an effort to cool her burning skin. As soon as she resurfaced, firm hands grasped her arms tightly, before she could even open her eyes. Zevran’s lips were perilously close to her own, fingers digging into wet skin, his eyes searching her face for something… _anything._ She felt weak, whether it be from the blood loss or his touch, and could do nothing but gratefully melt into the embrace.

Once upon a time, this was all she had wanted. To be held, to be _loved._ Until…

He pressed closer, warm skin pressing against her cold. Her lips parted, breath coming in short pants. “I should have warned you, from the moment you refused to kill me, that _this_ was inevitable,” he whispered, his grip tightening to the point where it began to hurt. She’d have liked that, normally, and the fact that he’d learned that about her was almost too much.

A weakness.

She forced herself out of the trance he’d put her in, scrunching her nose in faux distaste, and pushed at his chest, forcing him away. “Do you really think I’m foolish enough to actually fall for _you_?”

He visibly recoiled, as if she’d struck him. Her words like daggers.  
  
Her head began to swim, the sting beneath her rib cage pulling her down. The hard lines of his chest blurred in front of her, the harsh black of the swirling tattoo at his waist turning into a smudge against golden skin.

  
“Lenan, I—”

“You don’t get to call me that,” she growled, the sound of her name on his lips snapping her back to reality, and sparking a memory that she’d long tried to forget.

 

_Blonde hair shining like the sun, tan skin like an inviting glass of warm brandy. He smiles, pushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear._

_I’ll spend every waking moment learning to make you happy."_

 

No.

Zevran reaches for her again and she swats him away, the sting of tears in her eyes.

 

_Blood, so much blood. She looks down, the beautiful white lace stained and ripped._

_She’d felt so special, loved. She pulls the ring from his finger. He’s cold. They’ll pay. They’ll all pay._

 

Painful sobs tear their way from her throat, and her hands fly to her mouth in an attempt to muffle the sound.

She looks up at Zevran through blurred vision, he’s staring wide-eyed and confused, though clearly still wanting to grab her, hold her, his fingers twitching. It was just her _name_ , after all. He couldn’t have known.

Her body begins to shake. Was she going into shock? Zevran relents and grabs her, pulling her into his side and guiding her onto the muddy bank.

He pulls his trousers on and carefully wraps her in his shirt. It smells like fire and brandy and just _warmth_. She pulls it tight as he does up the buttons.

Zevran tugs her close and leads her toward camp, his pace quickening as her knees give way beneath her. He bursts into Morrigans tent, the witch is ready for a fight, until she sets eyes on Lenan, small and broken.

“What did you do?” She seethed, tugging Lenan from his grip, yellow eyes desperately seeking the source of her pain. Her hands glow as they pass over Lenan’s body, the knit and thread of magic pulling her wounds together.

“I…is she okay?” Zevran sighs.

Morrigan glares at him, teeth bared, before turning to Lenan. “Warden?”

Lenan sniffs and nods slowly, feeling like a madwoman as she comes to her senses. She gazes over at Zevran, her expression brightening, then falling, her eyes not leaving his.

A flicker of recognition crosses his face, and he walks to her, taking her in his arms once more.

“Mi _Amor_.”


	4. When it's Time

Another tiny, yet annoyingly powerful fist pounded hard into his chest.

He stumbled backward under the force of it, stifling a grunt. He grit his teeth, slowly losing his patience.

“Warden.“

Another push. One too far.

“Lenan!” He yelled, much louder this time, startling even himself. He wasn’t one to lose his temper in such a manner. He grabbed her wrists, pulling her to his chest forcefully.

She looked up at him, grey eyes wild, chest heaving. “Fuck you! Tell me _why_!” She hissed, trying to break from his grip.

She kicked, scratched, snarled.

He pushed, practically _threw_ her onto the bunk and ran shaking hands through his hair in frustration.

She looked up at him in disbelief; he had finally cracked.

“I am _fed up_ of this!” He shouted, gesturing between them. “I love you, don’t you see? To hurt you would be to hurt myself!” He took a deep breath. “I serve you, I am inexplicably _yours.”_

“But isn’t that the reason you took the job? Because you knew you would die trying to kill me?”

His face fell from anger to hurt. She shook her head slowly, defiant as ever, yet the butterflies in her stomach were getting harder to ignore. She bit her lip.

They stared each other down for a few moments before she quietly started to undress.

He groaned, frowning. “What are you doing?”

She stared silently, sliding her panties off.

He contemplated walking away, but there was no resisting her.

He covered her, neither of them being gentle as they fumbled to remove his clothes.

She dug her nails into his back as he entered her, satisfied knowing she’d definitely drawn blood.

It was frenzied, rough, _incredible._

It always was.

When they were together like this is was as easy as breathing.

He bit at the skin of her clavicle, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. He smirked into her neck as she gave him his instructions.

_Yes. More. Faster. There._

They lay silently, a mess of limbs and sweat and blonde hair.

“You’re a dangerous woman.”

“Yet you love me still? For that I would say you’re far more dangerous than I, Zevran.”

His name.

The first time he’d not been crow, or elf.

The first time she’d addressed him in any way without a hint of venom in her voice.

All he heard was affection.

It made him forget just how dangerous she could be; just for a moment.


	5. Fall to Pieces

Zevran found her pacing furiously on the outskirts of the campsite, frustration rolling off her in passionate waves.  
Long fingers pulled at hair, her jaw clenched and rigid.

  
Witnessing her like this was second to only when they were making love. He wanted to comfort her, but at the same time, selfishly, he was hesitant to disturb her stunning rage.

  
He took a cautious step forward as if he were approaching a hungry wolf, hands raised in front of him defensively. “Lenan,” he said quietly, testing, “talk to me.”

  
She stopped, wringing her hands, body wound tight, her smouldering grey eyes burning into him. She licked her lips and took a deep breath. “His name was Nelaros. My… my husband.”

  
Zevran tried to stay calm, his eyes widening for a second before he regained his composure. He nodded, edging another step closer.

  
Of course she belonged to another, or at least had. He always knew there was a reason for her profound anger, but never imagined this.

  
She continued to wring her hands, her pale skin reddening from the force of it. Her bottom lip quivered, eyes pleading and helpless as she finally stepped toward him.

  
He wrapped his arms around her and pressed his lips to her head, taking in the fresh, familiar smell of her hair. Lavender.

  
“They killed him… killed _all_ of them.”

  
Zevran rubbed soothing circles on her back, letting her cry into his chest. He felt guilty for relishing in this intimate moment, for enjoying her pain in some sick way. If pain meant she opened up, meant that she needed him, then he’d take it.

  
At least now he knew that he would do everything in his power to make sure nothing would ever break her again.


	6. Marked

Lenan hissed through clenched teeth as the needle pierced her skin, the sensation slowly becoming familiar, almost soothing.

The second the point left her flesh the burn faded, only to be swiftly returned as Zevran applied pressure once more.

He smirked down at her as she bit her lip, his thighs straddling her waist as he leaned over her.

She'd always admired the dark lines of ink that littered his body, her favorite being the ones that started at the curve of his hip and traveled down, down...

"You're doing well, Mi Amor."

She tsked, frowning. "It's nothing. In fact it's quite comforting."

He laughed at that, knowing the Warden was lying though her tightly clenched teeth. "You no longer have to try and impress me, Warden. I know you're a fierce woman, but I also know that this hurts... a lot."

When he was finished he sat back to admire his work. He was no artist, but working with an already painfully beautiful canvas certainly helped.

She stood, bare chested and glorious, turning awkwardly to admire the intricate, swirling markings that ran from the centre of her spine down to the curve of her hip.

Her lips quirked into a smile as her fingers curiously ran over the sore skin. "It's beautiful, thank you."

Zevran closed in on her, brushing the long mess of blonde hair over her shoulder, the waves cascading down her back. "Perfection. It suits you."

He never tired of the way her skin flushed under his gaze, nor the dark flutter of dark lashes atop pink cheeks.

He grabbed her hand away from prodding at the tattoo and pressed a kiss to her palm.

"I think a snake would look interesting. Maybe here?" She pointed at the top of her arm.

"Anything, anything you want."


	7. Hope to Forget

She remembered it like it was yesterday... the soft smile that crept across his handsome face each time he lay wide eyes upon her. A delicious dash of pink seemed to permanently bloom upon his cheeks, dark lashes fluttering as he shyly turned his gaze from her.

He was calm, he was happiness, he was good, he was _everything_.

She was kinder then, still angry and all bubbling, building rage, but it crept beneath the surface instead of pouring out and over everything she touched as it did now.

"I'll be the husband you deserve, I swear it. I'll do anything to make you happy."

She believed him, and she let him in.

He tore her guard down and she was left vulnerable, helpless.

They were happy for a while. He was gentle and loving, all toothy smiles and giggles beneath warm sheets. His kisses were tender, his lovemaking even more so.

She also remembered the way the longsword jutted from his chest, a deep red pooling on his beautiful, white wedding shirt. He still smiled as he spotted her, the trickle of blood in the corner of his mouth not even close to marring his beauty.

"I'm so sorry, Lenan. I failed you, I promised..."

She remembered the way the broken glass cut into her skin as she fell to her knees in front of him, shaking hands reaching out as if she could fix him, push away the hurt and make him whole again. He grabbed at her fingers clumsily, their matching wedding bands knocking together, his final breaths shallow and painful.

She'd always blame herself, though she'd swiftly murdered the men who were truly responsible, it mattered little to her. He was there to save her, and now he was dead.

She'd never needed saving until after he was gone.

Sometimes she'd wake, the feel of their final kiss pressing against her mouth. She'd touch her fingers to her lips, as if she could keep the feeling there if she held on tightly enough.

Then, _he_ would stir beside her, strong arms pulling her close. Another man with kind eyes and a wicked smile, a man who pledged his life to her, who loved her.

He was so different, but he loved her just as fiercely. He wasn't gentle, but she didn't need him to be.

She needed to feel. Something raw and beautiful that didn't remind her of what she once had.

She'd done little to deserve either of them, yet they'd both loved her anyway.

Maybe it was for the best, everything that happened.

As Zevran had told her the night she died, fate is a tricky whore.

 

 

 


	8. The Other Guy

 

“You should see the other guy,” she coughed, a line of blood dribbling down her chin.

Zevran chuckled, shaking his head. “Just hold still.”

She winced as he pressed the poultice to her side, the sting of the elfroot surely a welcome reprieve from the pain of the stab wound.

“There.” He sat back, hands splayed upon her thighs, the warmth of her fever seeping through her leathers.

She was a mess, a devastatingly beautiful one, but a mess nonetheless. Her knuckles were bruised and cut from where she’d tossed her daggers aside, throwing punches at men thrice her size. A chunk had also been torn from her ear, but the worst of it was the gaping gut wound that the bandit had managed to inflict upon her.

She’d swiftly put a dagger through his eye, of course, but he’d still gotten too close.

“I need a drink,” she groaned, teeth clenched as she struggled to pull herself up. “Whiskey, I  _beg_  you, just bring me the bottle.”

“Ah, ah, please… stay,” he frowned, gently pressing her back down to the ground. He watched her lip curl into a snarl, bloodied teeth bared.

“Get your hands  _off_  me, and get me some whiskey,” she slurred, big grey eyes rolling back in her head, her hands feebly attempting to push him away. “I ought to kill you for… ugh.”

He smiled softly, watching as her eyelids fluttered closed, the soft rise and fall of her chest assuring him he was safe from what was sure to be a nasty right-hook.

Maker, he loved her.


	9. The Battle of Denerim: Part One

She always knew this moment would come. In fact, she'd welcomed it once, _begged_ for it all to end.

That was a year ago. Now, _now_ she had something that was tugging at her, pulling to keep her on this earth; a purpose.

"We've come so far from those days where I tried to kill you. Isn't fate a tricky whore?"

She swallowed thickly as his velvet voice washed over her, a lump so hard in her throat she almost choked.

"Don't make light of this, Zevran."

He stepped forward, long fingers reaching and lacing through her hair, forehead pressed against hers, lips but an inch from touching, eyes closed.

"For a chance to be by your side I would storm the dark city itself. I love you, always."

She wanted to close her eyes too, to shut the image of his face, turn and walk away without the fresh memory of it burned into her mind.

She couldn't, didn't.

Instead, she traced every curve, counted every freckle, memorised the way his lips curled at the edges as he smirked.

He drew the breath from her lungs with his beauty, and he was hers. Wholly, irrevocably _hers_.

The fighting raged around them, fire so close the heat licked at her skin. Screaming, dying, metal clashing and blood gurgling.

How long could she stand here, ignoring her calling, her fate. Should she just let it all burn? Was this worth it?

 _Yes_.

"I have to--"

He silenced her with a kiss, a kiss so desperate it made her knees quake.

He pulled away, hands still clutching her tightly. His amber eyes burning into her grey.

She heard Alistair call her name, a pained, desperate sound. The damned fool would sacrifice himself if she lingered much longer. She couldn't do that to him, he was more important than she would ever be.

"I love you, until my heart stops and even beyond that. I _love_ you," she said, the words falling shakily from her lips.

Selfish to say it now, after all this time.

She'd loved him since the first night, yet she leaves it until the last to tell him.

She pulled herself free from his grip, turning as the tears finally spilled.

She heard him unsheathe his blades, throwing himself at the nearest darkspawn he could find.

 


	10. The Battle of Denerim: Part Two

The sky burned a deep red, casting an eerie shadow upon her pale skin. She charged forward, lips curled back over snarling teeth, hair flowing behind her like a cape.   
  
She was rage, she was destruction, she was  _vengeance_.   
  
He screamed her name in a desperate moment of weakness, Alistair clutching at his armor to hold him back.   
  
The damned idiot was strong, so very  _strong_. If it had been anyone else he may have been able to tear through their grip, run and grab her, knock her out if he had to.   
  
Anything, anything to stop this.   
  
He noticed Alistair had turned his head, unable to face seeing his friend die. It should have been him, they both knew it, but she loved the soon-to-be king too much to allow it.   
  
Alistair’s head was bleeding profusely, a deep gash just below his hairline where Lenan’s gauntlet had caught him as he tried to charge toward the archdemon.   
  
Zevran was, unfortunately, fully aware that she packed a hell of a punch.   
  
He choked back another scream as she drew closer, his throat growing raw.   
  
Lenan sunk her daggers deep into the chest of a darkspawn that dared to get in her way, heaving it off her blades with a kick to the stomach.   
  
She turned and spotted her prey, the archdemon spouting fire upon a group of soldiers. Her daggers clanged to the ground as she discarded them, instead grabbing an abandoned longsword as she ran.   
  
She was graceful, not even breaking a sweat as she flung herself forward, skidding beneath the beast, the tip of the blade raised above her head, it’s neck splitting open with ease. It screeched, a guttural, sickening gargle tearing from its throat.   
  
She pulled herself up onto its back, finding her footing with ease, even as it thrashed in an attempt to remove her. She wrapped both hands around the grip and raised the sword high.   
  
Their eyes met and Lenan smiled, wide and devilish. He’d have laughed at her wickedness if he didn’t already know this was the last moment he’d see her breathing.   
  
Alistair mumbled beside him, his voice catching, shaking. “In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice.”   
  
His grip on Zevran loosened, no longer having a reason to hold him back.  
  
The light was blinding, so much so that they both fell to their knees, arms covering their eyes. If Zevran wasn’t feeling slightly delirious, he’d have sworn he could her her unmistakable, wicked laughter.  
  
The light cleared and there was silence, clarity.   
  
Alistair helped him to his feet and they exchanged a look before sprinting toward her.   
  
She had been beautiful in life, but was strangely even more so in death. The perpetual frown had disappeared, her lips no longer pressed into a hard line or curled into a snarl.   
  
She had carried such a weight on her tiny shoulders, but now there was… nothing.   
  
She looked  _peaceful_.   
  
The two men knelt beside her, Alistair pressing a trembling hand to her arm, his head bowed, shoulders shaking.  
  
Zevran reached out and brushed her hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear as he had done so many times. He grabbed her hand, already cold, and squeezed.   
  
The urge to pull her into his arms, crush her against his chest, overwhelmed him.   
  
The two men stayed like that for a little while, the smoke and chaos slowly beginning to clear around them.   
  
How lucky they were, to have been loved so fiercely by her, and to have loved her in return.


End file.
